


A Nice Restaurant

by schifaroo



Series: Call Me Sir [3]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Anal Sex, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Blow Jobs, Breeding, Comeplay, Consensual Non-Consent, Date Rape Fantasy, Dom Eliot Waugh, Dom/sub, Doppelganger Sex, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Facials, Fivesome - M/M/M/M/M, Frottage, Gang Bang Fantasy, Golems, Gratuitous Smut, Intercrural Sex, Light Bondage, Light Impact Play, M/M, Magic Roofie, Multiple Orgasms, Obedience, Objectification, Orgy, Overstimulation, Rape Roleplay, Sex Magic, Sex with Golems, Spitroasting, Sub Quentin Coldwater, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-22 19:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30043335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schifaroo/pseuds/schifaroo
Summary: A powerful, resonant sound erupted from deep within Sir’s chest, and Quentin knew what that sound meant; he knew it better than he knew anything.—In which Quentin gets Eliot a magical birthday present and Eliot knows exactly how he wants to use it.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Call Me Sir [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087397
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	A Nice Restaurant

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [hoko_onchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoko_onchi/pseuds/hoko_onchi) and [TheAudity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAudity/pseuds/TheAudity) for their support, enthusiasm, and advisement on this fic; all typos and errors are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> —
> 
> What started out as a nice, quick birthday sex fic turned into this. 
> 
> I have no shame and I make no apologies. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Eliot didn’t have quite the reaction Quentin expected when he gifted him three lumps of Living Clay for his birthday. Eliot went very, very quiet when he opened it, almost like he didn’t know what to do with them. So, Quentin made a few lighthearted suggestions. 

He’d initially thought Eliot might use them one at a time for some fun double penetration sex. Maybe he would want one Quentin to lick his balls while another Quentin sucked his dick. But, the gift was Eliot’s. Quentin very specifically told Eliot to use it whenever or however he wanted. 

Eliot nodded, not looking at Quentin, not seeming like he’d even heard what Quentin had said. He just kept staring at the Clay with an odd expression on his face. Quentin prodded him a little, and Eliot seemed shocked back into the present. He smiled and gave Quentin a soft kiss as thanks.

The overall reaction made Quentin think it might be a while before the Clay got put to use. It didn’t bother him; it had certainly taken him a little while to warm up to some of Eliot’s more sexual gifts himself. He knew Eliot would get curious enough to try them out down the road.

All things considered, Quentin didn’t instantly think about the Living Clay when, the very next day, Eliot suggested a play session for the coming weekend. When Eliot started describing the scene he envisioned, he only got a few words in before Quentin launched himself forward, wrapped his hands over Eliot’s mouth, and said, “ _Yes_. You're incredible. Don’t tell me anything else. That's it.”

Of course, Eliot didn’t think that was acceptable—there was an entire list of details they needed to touch on before he’d even consider leaving the rest unsaid—but he did seem even more pleased with himself than usual through the rest of his exposition. 

* * *

Quentin found window shopping through Chelsea relaxing. He browsed through the hedge bookshop his boyfriend—no, his _friend_ had introduced him to. He sampled some cheeses from the specialty shop a few doors down. There was just something about the neighborhood that he liked, and part of him spent a good amount of time on his walk considering whether or not he might be able to afford a penthouse in the neighborhood after graduation. 

They were— _Quentin was_ a Magician: of course, he’d be able to afford it.

He checked his phone for the time. He didn’t want to be late, and if he didn’t get moving, he was going to be. He was supposed to be meeting a blind date at a nice restaurant a few blocks over. He was supposed to be just a little bit nervous, maybe even a little anxious—and he _was_ anxious, if not entirely in character yet.

For all his effort to be on time, Quentin ended up waiting for his date for a good fifteen minutes. He felt childish sipping his water at the bar and hoped it didn't look like he was being stood up. He fidgeted with the collar of his plain black button-down and wondered if he should have dressed up more. 

The more time passed, the more he fidgeted. It felt like ants were crawling up his shins as he started to wonder if he should be worried—if something might have gone wrong with the spellwork, or the reservations, or maybe something else entirely. The spell was supposed to be relatively straightforward. Certainly he would have called if—

A firm, heavy hand gripped his shoulder: just enough to feel over-familiar. The tension in his shoulders melted away. He shook his head a little, reeling himself back to the scene as fast as he could: they'd met online, this was their first date, there'd been a few red-flags, but curiosity was outweighing his skepticism, making him reckless.

He was pretty sure he was remembering _most_ of the backstory, anyway.

A deep voice rumbled in his ear, “Hello, Quentin.”

The memory of setting his eyes on him for the first time was forever seared into his brain; it wasn’t hard to recall those immediate, heady feelings now as he turned to look at him. He was more handsome than any man he ever could have imagined up in a hallucination: tall, soft, touchable curls, dark eyes, just a little bit of scruff. Effortless, beautiful; he was everything.

His date was dressed neatly, in a rich green blazer and light paisley shirt. Quentin wasn’t typically one to agree to blind dates, but there was a _reason_ he’d accepted this invitation. He hoped he wasn’t blushing too hard as he tucked his hair behind his ears. 

“I do have to apologize for being tardy,” he stepped closer, and Quentin told himself his heart was racing from intimidation, “I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Of course, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to sit at the bar or. Um. If you wanted to get a table.”

He smiled brightly, “Yes. Let’s get a table.” 

Their small talk was pleasant enough; though, after their appetizers, Quentin started to feel lightheaded. At least he didn’t run into any of the waitstaff or other patrons as he stumbled towards the bathroom at the back of the restaurant. He didn’t think he was in the bathroom long enough to warrant a chaperone, but his date was waiting for him just outside the door when he made it out. 

“Feeling okay, sweetheart?” he asked with a rueful smile. He stepped forward, encircled Quentin in his arms, and guided Quentin’s forehead to his shoulder. 

Quentin hummed happily, “Spell’s, um...workin’. Love you.”

“I know, baby. I love you, too.”

* * *

Quentin woke up on his back, on a soft bed, with cool, silken sheets. There was a small sitting area with a plush sofa off to the side, set in front of wide windows. Outside, the night was pitch black. It’d barely been past happy hour last he remembered. 

An uncomfortable prickle started to spread over his skin. 

“Welcome back, Quentin.” 

His date was perched on the edge of the bed, watching him calmly with his legs crossed and hands clasped over his knee. Quentin sat up slowly and backed his way off the opposite side of the bed, trying to put it between them.

“Where. Um. Where are we?” he asked as the man stood up and moved slowly around to his side. Quentin stayed where he was, frozen in place, wringing his hands together. Just a few long strides and the man was too close for Quentin’s comfort. He backed up quickly, heart racing. His abductor seemed unfazed; he stalked him, step by step as Quentin retreated. Quentin’s back hit something solid; he yelped as someone pinned his arms behind him. 

He’d completely missed that they weren’t alone.

The second man holding him breathed heavily against his neck. Dread started to churn through his stomach. There wasn’t going to be an easy escape; no one to help him; no getting out.

“Allow me to introduce my colleagues.” The man straightened the lapels of his coat and motioned to two other golems off to the side, one sitting on top of an ornate desk and the other leaning against it lazily. They both snapped to attention and nodded in turn as he introduced them, “This is El and this is Daddy.”

El was dressed in a casual white polo shirt and tight grey jeans, hair straightened and brushed to the side. Daddy was wearing a sleek, black silk robe, hanging open and loose, with nothing underneath. His hair was wild and carefree like he’d just woken up after a raucous party. 

“The one holding you oh, so sweetly is Eliot.” 

Eliot grunted. Quentin twisted a little to take him in. Eliot was dressed closer to his standard vest and tie, all complimentary blues, and purples, with dark, sultry eyeliner rimming his eyes. That was all fine and good and hot, but what immediately started his heart pounding faster was that Eliot’s hair was _long_. Beautiful, long, full, cascading curls expertly tamed to frame his face and it was—

Yeah. It was _working_ for him. 

His date gripped Quentin’s chin and forced his attention back on him with a smirk, definitely noting Quentin’s reaction. “You can call me Sir.”

Quentin swallowed. Eliot tightened his grip on Quentin’s arms again.

El and Daddy stalked closer to him; they placed their hands on him, smiled at him, and looked him over with appraising eyes like he was a piece of meat. It sent a thrill through his cock he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before, even after all the times Sir had already given him everything he’d ever wanted. 

Sir was so good to him. So good, so good, so good. Sir bested himself every time and it was so... _good_.

“We’re going to watch each other take our turns with you,” Sir’s lips curled into a cruel smile as Eliot’s teeth grazed the back of his ear and El flicked his nipples through his shirt and Daddy ran a firm hand up the inside of his thigh. “Then, we’re going to fuck you.”

“I...please, no…” he protested, struggling against Eliot’s hold on him, “I don’t want—”

“I think Eliot should go first. He’s done so well with you so far.” Sir stepped up close and ran his fingers over Quentin's jawline. El smoothed Quentin’s hair to the side so Eliot could mouth at his neck. It sent the sweetest shiver through his body. "Now, the real question is...which spell for you, hm?"

" _No_. I don’t want this. I don’t want _any_ of this,” Quentin practically shouted as he fought to get free. No doubt the walls were warded. No one would hear him. No one would know he needed help. 

Sir slapped him across the face and Quentin let out a startled shout.

"Tonight isn't about what you want," the dark timbre of Sir's voice made him shiver and fall back closer to Eliot's chest. Eliot nipped at the corner of his jaw. El and Daddy ran their hands over his arms. His heart raced faster; sweat formed between his shoulder blades; he couldn’t seem to catch his breath no matter how much air he gulped down.

Sir looked dark and dangerous as his eyes roved over him. 

"I think...eight, just to be on the safe side,” Sir whispered with a dark, promising tone. He started moving his hands through the tuts for the spell without waiting for a response.

Holy shit.

Even with the help from the spell, his body was going to be limp and weak by the end of it if Sir really went through with it to push him through all eight orgasms. They didn't have to be all back to back; the spell would last for several hours. He didn’t _have_ to have _all_ of them; the spell would just dissipate into nothing if they went unused. Still, the most Sir had asked of him throughout a single refractory period reduction spell was _three_ within a short, but deliriously exceptional timeframe. 

He didn’t know how much time it would take for eight, and he didn’t know how far into subspace it would push him.

The golems' hands felt hotter against his skin and more insistent as they started pulling at his clothes. It was as if they were fueled by his increased heart rate, and his slack jaw, and his panting breath.

And he was _so_ fucking hard. 

If Sir wanted eight of his orgasms, he was going to give him all eight, and it was going to be fucking spectacular.

Sir looked pleased with his reaction as if he could read the determination in his thoughts. His hands kept moving through the casting: one spell for each of them to make sure they’d last, one for each of them to make sure they were clean.

God, the feeling of Sir's magic working over his body always got him that much closer, that much faster. 

Daddy and El tweaked his nipples simultaneously and he pitched forward into it, Eliot struggling to restrain him. 

Three pairs of Sir’s hands on his body, four pairs of Sir’s eyes piercing through his soul—the feeling of _one_ of either was enough to send him over the edge and he got _four_ of them tonight. He was falling, tripping into it, he wanted to yield everything up and never resurface. Sir was so good to him. He felt amazing, and they’d barely even started; so hard, and he’d barely been touched. He wanted to be so good; wanted to give Sir everything, everything, _everything_.

Sir stepped forward, and lifted his chin, his eyebrows pinched together in a question, "Baby, are you—"

“Green,” Quentin answered instantly, “green, green, green, green, green. Green for all eight of them. I’m already halfway there—Jesus Christ, I want _all_ of it."

Sir stooped down to give him a tender kiss.

"Alright, Eliot, you heard him."

* * *

Daddy undid his belt and pushed his pants and boxers down only enough to pull his blood-hot cock out. Quentin struggled against it; shouted for help despite the wards he knew Sir had put up; tried to resist any way Eliot tried to move him. 

Eliot was strong though, and Quentin couldn’t break from his grasp. Eliot held him tight against his chest and jerked him off onto El’s face and into his open mouth.

Sir watched from the other side of the room, legs spread wide as he sat on the sofa, the night sky a beautiful backdrop to his ebony hair and flawless pale skin. He rubbed the front of his pants shamelessly, and he grinned wide when he noticed Quentin watching.

Quentin felt the arousal already building again behind his navel and he moaned, half delirious with it already; he was going to lose his fucking _mind_ by the end of the night.

* * *

Daddy took his spent body into his arms and laid him out on the bed; it was tender, sweet, and fervent in a way that made him plunge deeper into the pool. Quentin kept trying to protest, trying to keep himself in character. Daddy didn’t seem to care either way, so long as Quentin’s eyes were locked onto his.

El and Eliot helped Daddy strip him of his clothing. Their mouths followed close behind each hem as they pushed his clothes down his legs or up his chest or off his arms. It was intoxicating as his body twisted beneath them as if of its own accord. They didn't restrain him except to minister more tongues and teeth and lips to him. By the time they were done, he didn't think there was a single inch of his body that hadn't felt at least one press of a hot, meticulous mouth. 

He didn't think there was a time in his life he needed to come more, either.

Daddy took his cock in his mouth, and it broke him. 

His hips canted up into Daddy’s mouth all while El and Eliot held him down with their firm, beautiful hands. Quentin’s mind went blank, empty of everything except the sensation of Daddy’s lips and tongue moving against him, demanding his pleasure. He cried out for him. He sobbed and begged for Daddy to not hold back, to make him come, to make him feel alive. 

Sir eventually crossed the room to place his mouth over his, likely unable to endure the chorus of, " _Fuck_...Daddy, _yes_...yours, Daddy!" when he was so used to being called Sir. 

He came in Daddy’s mouth with Sir’s teeth against his shoulder and Sir’s fingers interlaced with his.

* * *

Daddy settled against the headboard and pulled him into his lap. He helped him drink some Gatorade and eat some grapes. Daddy gentled him, hummed little soothing sounds against his neck, kissed him softly. He pointed towards the others, drawing Quentin's attention to what was about to start. 

Eliot and El carefully regarded Sir. Eliot then turned to El and reached down to the hem of his polo shirt. Quentin’s attention shifted immediately from Daddy’s lips behind his ear to the strip of skin above El’s belt. Eliot revealed more and more skin, inch by inch, until El’s shirt was off. Eliot splayed his hands over the other golem’s chest, waxed flawless and clean.

Sir caught his eye and gave him a small smile.

Sir removed Eliot’s tie with a few erotic snaps of silk across luxury cotton. Sir’s eyes moved back to the bed, where Daddy was sucking on his earlobe gently, and Quentin’s cock stood erect. Sir tossed the tie to the bed, near Daddy’s knee. Daddy took the soft silk and dragged it over his cock with interest. 

The silk felt cool against Quentin’s skin. Daddy took the skinny end and wrapped it around his shaft once, twice, three times. He kept the fabric loose, easy, smooth, letting the tie glide between them as he casually wrapped his hand around Quentin’s cock and moved his fist over him with the gentlest of touches. 

Just as he thought he’d go insane from the lightness of his touch, it escalated. Daddy slipped the tie off his dick and used the backside of it to wipe the smear of precum off his tip. It made Quentin’s hips surge up and Daddy had to grip his shoulders to keep him settled against his chest. Once Daddy seemed content Quentin wasn’t so aroused he wouldn’t stay put, Daddy wrapped the tie around the back of his knuckles. He moved his bound hand against the side of his dick, along the underside—a constant, gentle, infuriating back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. The long tail shifted and flicked against his balls undoubtedly by teasing, maddening, brilliant design. 

Quentin couldn’t help himself: he closed his eyes and tipped his head back. He reached up and slid his hand around Daddy’s jaw. Daddy placed his free hand along his neck to help guide Quentin’s lips to his. Their kiss was quick, but deep and wet, before Daddy took his chin between his fingers, and turned him back to face front.

With a deep groan—as if it was a burden to watch Sir stripping down with two other beautiful versions of himself—Quentin opened his eyes. El and Sir already had Eliot’s vest undone and started unbuttoning his shirt. They got distracted undoing El’s pants and peeling them off his body. 

It felt like time slowed down, watching them. Quentin’s mouth went dry as El tilted his head back as an obvious offering. Sir took it, kissing the golem slowly, all while his eyes bore down on Quentin. His arousal intensified; it twitched like a bull in a pen; dug deeper into every cell in his body. Though, the reaction could have just as easily been fueled by Daddy abandoning the tie to ghost slow, too gentle fingertips over the head of his leaking cock.

Then, El was crawling towards him, naked and smiling lecherously, lips closing around one of his nipples as soon as he got close enough. Quentin sucked in a hard, shuddering breath. Daddy cooed at him, and nudged his cheek with his nose, bringing his attention back. 

Sir took off his blazer and handed it to Eliot. Eliot folded it carefully and laid it on the desk; then he returned to take Sir’s shirt. Then he took Sir’s undershirt.

Then his belt and shoes. 

Then his socks. 

Quentin huffed out a hard breath in anticipation as Sir stripped himself of his pants and his briefs. Certainly, that meant he was going to join Daddy and El, pressing against his body, teasing him, making him sigh with pleasure and forget why he had resisted in the first place. It was all he wanted: Sir’s attention on him, Sir’s mouth on him, and Sir’s hands on him.

That wasn’t what happened.

Sir threaded his fingers through Eliot’s long, luscious hair and pushed him down to kneel in front of him. He looked up at Quentin with a dare in his eyes; Quentin’s stomach dropped through the floor.

That was _his_ duty to perform for Sir, no one else’s. 

Quentin whined; he thrashed. Daddy and El kept him down, their own ministrations to his skin becoming more and more scorching. They maneuvered him to lay down sideways on the bed, _making_ him tilt his head to the side to _make_ him watch. He watched and listened and cried as Sir’s head tilted back and he groaned out a sound only _he_ was supposed to make Sir yield up. 

“No, no, no, _please_ , no, don’t want...No, Sir, please…I should... _my job_ , Sir...”

“You know how to make this stop, baby,” Sir canted his hips forward into the golem’s throat with another deep groan, and Quentin groaned back in frustration. 

He wasn’t paying attention to anything other than what Eliot was doing in his place, and how Sir was responding to Eliot. He wasn’t prepared when El poised himself on top of him and thrust their cocks together. It pulled a shout out of him that made Sir’s head snap to attention. Sir’s smile widened as El started moving against him. Daddy helped them, with his big hands wrapped around both cocks, guiding them into a channel of heat and smooth lube. Quentin gasped and involuntarily rolled his hips up and into El with a mindless wail.

“You know the word. But I... _shit_...I think you do want this. Think you like watching Eliot suck me off,” Sir’s breath was coming harder, “I think it’s driving you insane, watching like this, and I think you like it. I think you _love_ it.” 

“Fuck.” Quentin licked his lips, imagining Sir’s salty-sweet precum on his tongue. He whimpered. He couldn’t close his eyes, watching Eliot’s pace as he bobbed his head, the twist of Sir’s smile. He couldn’t stop whining and muttering profanities under his breath as El and Daddy worked his cock harder, bringing him closer and closer and _closer_.

A powerful, resonant sound erupted from deep within Sir’s chest, and Quentin knew what that sound meant; he knew it better than he knew anything. It was the most beautiful sound in the world. It was a sound just for _him_. He watched Sir tilt his head back: mouth open in the part-gasp-part-smile that Quentin knew better than anyone how to bring out of him. Quentin watched as Sir emptied himself down Eliot’s throat. 

El moved faster against him, and all he could do was whine as Daddy’s hands and El’s cock pushed him towards the edge again. Daddy held firm, keeping their cocks sliding together. El kissed him hard. Quentin came in a flurry of heat and screams.

* * *

“One more, darling, then a change of pace,” Sir stepped away from Eliot, helping the golem up off the floor. “You two, clean him up.” 

Quentin grunted as both of the golems set to licking the come off his body. Sir held Eliot’s back to his chest, and he started rubbing his nose over Eliot’s neck. His eyes locked with Quentin’s as he slowly undid Eliot’s belt, unbuttoned his slacks, pushed his hands inside. Sir sighed heavily in the same way Quentin heard him sigh when he got to watch Sir touch himself. Eliot had the same smile on his face that Quentin knew from all the times he’d watched Sir come, just like this.

They looked beautiful standing there together; Sir’s soft, gently tousled curls mingled right alongside Eliot’s long, tame ones. Their sighs matched each other in an identical, effortless give and take. 

Sir watched him over Eliot’s shoulder, pressing grazing lips to his neck in a way that Quentin knew so well. He imagined a phantom repetition of it on his own neck while El and Daddy kept lapping at his stomach. 

He’d be reliving this dream for a long time—decades even. Sir’s eyes studied Quentin intently; no doubt he knew at least half of what Quentin was thinking. 

“Should I make him come in his pants, baby?” Sir seemed to pluck the image out of Quentin’s mind and offered it back to him. His body sufficiently clean, the golems sat up and nodded vigorously, watching enraptured as Sir touched their Clay brother. The golem in Sir’s hands whined for it. Sir raised an eyebrow, waiting for Quentin’s answer. 

“No,” Quentin said, chest heaving, “I want it. I want his come. Want all of it.”

“Greedy boy,” Sir hummed, but he pulled his hands out of the golem’s pants anyways. His eyes were pure lust tracing over his skin. "What a greedy little cumslut we seem to have found."

Quentin whined, and Daddy pet his hair as if trying to soothe him.

“Let’s see how well you do for me. Maybe I’ll go back and finish the poor thing off, or maybe you’ll impress me enough to earn what you want.”

Sir prowled towards him, where he lay spread out flat on the bed. The refractory period spell was still working its magic; Quentin’s body was ready for him.

“Sir…” He gulped hard. Sir swept his hair out of his face where sweat had plastered it across his forehead.

Daddy moved his hand to stroke Quentin’s shoulder and Sir snapped, “Leave us be.” 

The three golems assembled themselves in a line next to the bed. Far enough away that Quentin forgot about them as soon as Sir bent down to kiss him deep and dirty. 

Sir coaxed Quentin’s knees to part for him. He hummed as he traced some of the more prominent veins of his cock with a finger. Then, he traced a finger around the base of the plug he’d set deep inside him what seemed like a lifetime ago. 

“Can you guess what I’m going to do to you now?”

“Fuck me,” Quentin breathed out, his eyes shut, heart racing.

“Not yet. We each get a turn to make you come first, remember?” Sir teased a finger over his perineum and Quentin whimpered. “How do you think I’m going to make you come?”

“Anything,” Quentin whispered.

Sir leaned forward to brace himself over Quentin, hands set firmly on the bed beside Quentin’s shoulders. Quentin felt the familiar tingle of Sir’s telekinesis pressing against him like a second skin. It meant he was about to put Quentin right where he wanted; it made him whimper in submission; he wanted nothing more than to be right where Sir wanted him.

The magic rolled over Quentin’s body for a few blissful moments, as if Sir wanted to seep into his skin and make him come from that feeling alone. Quentin didn’t doubt that he could—that was how well Sir knew his body. It sent Quentin’s head spinning, anticipation building, completely lost and just desperate to know what Sir wanted from him. Finally, he focused his power around Quentin’s cock, and Quentin keened in delight. Sir shifted his hips forward and nestled Quentin’s cock between his thighs. 

Quentin let out a pathetic, broken, pleading noise. He didn't care how it made him sound, or what it made Sir think of him, he just _needed._ Sir understood. Sir _always_ understood; Sir started moving.

“You’re gonna come all over my thighs." Sir flexed his legs tighter around Quentin’s cock and curled his hips forward and back, dragging Quentin between his thighs in a smooth, practiced motion. "Aren’t you darling?”

Quentin’s voice was more mindless sound than words as he looped his arms around Sir’s back, but two words made it out his throat, “Fuck. _Yes_.” 

“Love watching these creatures play with you,” Sir whispered in his ear and Quentin shuddered. Another long drag on his cock between Sir’s thighs, another brush of Sir’s cock against his stomach. “You’re so fucking hot for it. So desperate.”

“Need you,” Quentin mewled. 

“You do need me. You belong to me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Every orgasm. Every breath. It’s _mine_.”

“ _Fuck_...Sir...Sir…”

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“Yours, Sir. Always yours, always yours.”

“I can feel your cock’s already leaking. You’re gonna come so hard for me, aren’t you?”

“ _Yours_ , Sir. However, you want. Always—”

“I want you to scream for me when you come.”

“Yes…”

“Want you to paint my thighs with it.”

“Please…”

“Can feel you shaking. You’re so close, baby. C’mon. Come with my name on your lips.”

Quentin whimpered. Sir tightened his thighs around his cock even harder and Quentin grappled at his back, “Please, Sir...close, close, _close_.”

“You don’t need my permission to come, baby, not tonight. Come whenever you’re ready, just scream who you belong to when you do.”

It took three more pumps of his cock between Sir’s thighs before Quentin was screaming for him, sobbing that he was his, and spilling himself between Sir’s thighs, just like he wanted.

He’d been _good_ , Quentin clutched Sir’s shoulders and sobbed against his neck. He’d been so good, so good, so good. He'd done exactly what Sir wanted and it felt so _good_.

Sir shushed him and rubbed his nose against his temple. He gently rolled them to their sides together. Sir ran a hand calmly over Quentin’s hair, over his back, hushing him and reminding him who he was with. They stayed there, Quentin nestled safely under his chin, until all the feeling was wrung out of him. 

He was still raging hard.

He still wanted more.

When Quentin finally caught his breath, he lifted his eyes and met Sir’s. He looked worried. He didn’t like when Sir was worried. Quentin smiled, his eyes starting to droop as he melted back into where they were. 

“Green?” he asked, not entirely certain Sir wasn’t going to cut him off, just four of eight spent. He got an amused huff out of him, and a kiss on his forehead. Sir then pulled him a little closer to press his lips to the crown of his head, and let them relax into each other for a little bit longer. 

Eventually, Sir gently pushed his shoulder until Quentin rolled to his back, his neck cradled on the edge of the bed.

“Give him what he wants,” Sir instructed Eliot. “Come all over my baby boy’s face.”

Quentin opened his mouth eagerly as Eliot did as he was told. Sir made it a race—seeing if he could blow Quentin to orgasm before Eliot jerked himself off over Quentin’s tongue.

Sir won, but not by much.

* * *

Sir instructed Quentin that he needed to rest and get back in character, so they’d have an hour before the final event. He set a timer, and then leaned back on the bed, careful to make sure they weren’t touching anywhere. Then, he told the golems to entertain them. 

The three of them got wrapped up in each other almost instantly. Standing at the foot of the bed, they started with each kissing the others in turn, letting tongues and hands linger until they silently, unanimously decided the real show could begin. 

Eliot pulled Daddy’s robe off and made out with him with slick, wet, sucking noises passing between them. While they kept each other occupied with nips and kisses and wandering hands, El ran his cock through the cleft of Daddy’s ass, with slow precision. 

Eventually, Eliot dropped to his knees in front of Daddy. El reached around Daddy’s hip for Eliot to suck on his fingers, exactly as Sir asked him to when he was getting ready to finger Quentin open. Daddy tilted his head back and felt himself up—hands running over his abs, over his chest, into his mussed, wild hair. Eliot wrapped his mouth around Daddy’s cock, and El fingered Daddy hard and fast. 

They stopped themselves just as Daddy made an insistent grunt in the back of his throat, and they switched positions. As they moved, Quentin rolled his head to the side, to look at Sir. That’s when he noticed that of the four of them only Sir had his hedge tattoos—that or Sir had only unglamored them on his real self. 

Sir caught him staring, and smiled a little at him. They weren’t supposed to touch. He was supposed to be getting back in character. Sir turned his palm up to him anyways, and Quentin laced their fingers together. Quentin turned his attention back to the golems, feeling warm and fuzzy around the edges, just from Sir giving him everything he wanted, without even being asked. Sir didn’t need for him to ask; he just knew.

Laying on his back, El sprawled out on the bed. Daddy and Eliot set their lips against either side of El’s cock, placing long, sucking kisses along his shaft. They passed lingering kisses between themselves when they finally reached the head of his cock and their noses brushed against each other. 

El started to make small, disgruntled golem noises, obviously feeling left out despite the scene playing out above his dick. Eliot settled between El’s legs, sucking him down to the beautifully waxed base of his cock. Daddy straddled him on all fours, eyes trained on El’s clean-shaven face. Daddy started by licking a long stripe across El’s sternum, then his collarbone. He maneuvered on his hands and knees until he was fully stretched out over him, his long legs fitting tight against the length of El’s body. Daddy lowered his cock into El’s mouth. El reached around to grip Daddy’s ass; he guided him, massaged his cheeks, encouraged him. 

Quentin was completely entranced. Only Sir’s hand in his kept him grounded enough to keep him from crawling over to join them.

Eliot let go of El’s cock so he could sit up and crawl up to kiss Daddy’s on his shoulder. Daddy pulled off of El, to wrap his arms around Eliot’s shoulders and kiss him back, with a deep, satisfied sound. 

They maneuvered around each other gracefully; with such purpose and precision, all without saying a word to each other. It set Quentin’s heart racing, wondering how much of it was pure golem spellwork and how much of it was Sir’s control. 

_God_ , it didn’t matter—Sir was incredible to give him this gift. 

El knelt on the bed, facing Quentin with a small, sly smile. Eliot crawled between them, and bent over, with his face in the bed and his ass in the air. Slowly, slowly, with the most exquisite expression on his face, El sank into Eliot’s ass. El rocked forward and back, testing out the movement, and then in no time at all, he was gone in it. Frantic motion set the bed rocking. Eliot made staccato squeaks and half-moans as El kept going. It was easily the loudest sound he’d heard out of any of the golems; easily the closest to a real sound he would make while Sir fucked him.

Daddy watched rapturously, seemingly content to just sit, mesmerized. Finally, he moved. He kissed El so rapturously, El almost stopped moving in Eliot altogether. Quentin recognized the move—Sir had kissed him exactly that way more times than he could count, and it always left him with his heart pounding and his mind blank. It looked as though El was having as much a similar reaction as a golem could have.

The buzzer on Sir’s phone went off, but the golems didn’t so much as flinch. Quentin held his breath. Sir threw a tut in the direction of his phone to shut it off. 

The show wasn’t over.

Daddy took his cock in his hand and started jerking himself off, close to Eliot’s side. He threw his head back—Quentin knew that expression, too. He licked his lips, tightened his grip on Sir’s hand, and Sir gripped back even harder. El pushed Eliot harder; Daddy pushed himself harder. Daddy’s come shot across Eliot’s back in long white streaks. El smiled, let out a shuddering breath, and canted hard into Eliot, undoubtedly spilling into him. 

The golems slowly separated, and each knelt at the end of the bed, waiting.

Quentin turned to look at Sir. Sir’s eyes were dark; his breath calm and measured. 

Sir was ready for him. 

He placed a hand on the back of Quentin’s neck, and Quentin sighed, just a little. This was his favorite spot. Nothing was better than this: Sir’s hands on him, and the silent, blissful pool waiting for him. 

* * *

“You ready for us?” Sir asked quietly, letting go of Quentin’s hand to grip his jaw and turn his focus to him. The thrill it sent down his spine was incredible. “Starting to get ideas of what we’re going to do to your body?”

"No...no...don’t want it,” Quentin jerked his chin out of Sir’s hand, “Told you no.”

“But you do want it,” Sir whispered as he moved closer. “You’re so hard. I can tell you want it just from looking at you.”

“No.” Quentin tried to fight back as Eliot and Daddy took him by his calves and pulled him roughly down the bed until his ass was just at the edge of it. 

Eliot held one on his legs against his chest and Daddy held the other. They alternated stroking Quentin’s thighs with stroking their own or each other’s cocks, but they seemed to know on instinct that his cock belonged to Sir. El placed Quentin's head in his lap, gently stroking his hair. 

Sir stood at the end of the bed, looking over Quentin coolly. He placed a gentle kiss just to the left of his cock. "How many times have you come tonight, slut?"

Quentin's breath hitched as Sir grasped the plug in his ass and gently pumped it in and out of him a few times before removing it from his body entirely. He was suddenly so _empty_ , his body started to tremble.

"I've...I've come five times, Sir.”

Eliot drew a long line from Quentin’s groin to his ankle with a single finger.

Daddy kissed his calf.

“Do you think that’s enough for a cumslut like you?” Sir whispered, tracing a finger around his rim. 

“No, Sir.”

El drew nonsensical shapes over his chest with his fingertips. 

“No, I don’t think so either,” Sir said as he spread Quentin’s cheeks apart and started to press his thumbs around his puckered entrance.

* * *

Sir started with a finger hooked inside his ass, twisting around and around, pulling, stretching, opening. Daddy smiled at him as he reached down to wrap his hand around his balls. He rolled them between his fingers, at first playful, but with quickly escalating intensity. Eliot rubbed his thumb against his frenulum, the pressure increasing with each stroke.

El pushed his hair outside of his eyes, cooing softly at him. He wrapped a hand loosely around Quentin’s neck—pressing _just_ enough to remind Quentin he _could_ restrict his airway. Quentin tried to paw at any skin he could find, but the most he got was to graze his fingertips against El’s knees and Daddy’s thighs. Eliot was too far away. Sir was too far away.

Eliot bent down to lick a bead of precum out of his slit, and it made Quentin’s entire body spasm. Four pleased smiles beamed down at him. Daddy squeezed his balls tighter, tighter, _tighter_ ; Eliot left a sucking kiss on the tip of his cock; El caressed his nipples with the edge of his fingernails. And Sir was—Sir was—

Sir was _working_ him. Quentin cried out as Sir kept pushing his body to open wider; pushing his body to get ready; pushing his body to obey. Sir’s thumb pressed in and popped out, making his body do exactly what Sir wanted. The plug had been wide—but Sir clearly didn’t think wide enough. 

The screams it ripped out of his throat were nothing but elation. Eliot, El, and Daddy just kept up their teasing touches all while Sir moved him to cry out. Eliot kept one hand firmly around his throat and another firmly on his chest. He wasn’t allowed to _move_. His legs shook against El’s and Daddy’s chests; he let out a dry sob as they released his cock and balls to hold his legs tighter.

“Quentin,” Sir said, “pay attention. Want you to remember what this felt like forever. How we claimed you. How we made sure no one after us would ever get you the same way.”

Quentin whined as Sir knelt and leaned towards him.

“You’re going to come for me, again,” Sir whispered, his breath playing along his skin, right where he needed him. Sir’s breath ghosted over his balls then his tongue was pressing against him: exploring everywhere he was open, everywhere he’d been stretched loose, everywhere Sir had already claimed him.

It was bliss.

* * *

Eliot dug his teeth into the fullness of Quentin’s ass and let himself enjoy the pleasure of it. He set to licking long stripes from asshole to mid-thigh, across his taint, up the underside of his cock, as deep as he could reach inside of him. He took his time, savoring each bit of skin as he went. 

Quentin’s cock twitched with each flick of his tongue against his most sensitive areas; his incoherent pleading spiraled higher with each pass over each of Sir's favorite spots. It was a chorus he’d gladly listen to all night. Having Quentin open, wanton, shaking, pleading, needy was every bit of what he wanted out of their weekend. 

Only once he was satisfied that he’d fully enjoyed every inch of Quentin’s most sensitive skin, Eliot stood up and pushed into his boy, smooth and deep. Quentin’s response to him sliding in and starting to move inside him was immediate. He writhed against Eliot, twisting in El’s lap, trembling legs held open by the other golems.

Eliot knew the exact moment Quentin was fully submersed, because his entire body shivered, then went immediately and completely pliant. Like always, his perfect little sub had slipped into deep subspace so effortlessly, it only confirmed to him he was made to give Quentin this pleasure. That was all he needed; all he wanted; all he lived for.

Quentin’s responses reassured Eliot every time, but especially when he was like this: Quentin’s small, desperate subspace sounds, punctuated by the delightsome little mewls he always made when Eliot hit him exactly right _there_ ; the tremors shooting through his body keeping perfect time with his thrusts. If Eliot was capable of discerning anything while he was caught up in the space where his body met Quentin’s, he could at least know he was giving Quentin exactly what he craved. 

Eliot found a steady pace and let himself get lost in it.

He’d never get enough of it. He knew Quentin loved it. Quentin would be soft and pliant during aftercare; he’d be on his best behavior during their meta-conversation later. But, he also knew that at some point tomorrow, Quentin would pull him into the shower, or back into bed, or maybe push him down onto the couch and recount his favorite parts. He’d finger himself more and talk in explicit detail how good it felt while Eliot fucked him into submission. He’d make downright dirty allusions to how open he still was, and how used he had felt while Sir fucked him, and how filthy it made him feel then, retelling it. 

For Eliot, that was the entire point. To be dirty, used, and filthy was Quentin’s favorite thing about giving himself over to Eliot like this. He could do that for his baby; whatever Quentin needed, that was his job. It was just a bonus that he got off on using Quentin like a sex doll, too. 

Eliot pushed harder, harder, harder; he ran his hands from Quentin’s hips up to his ribcage to his shoulders. He held on tight to give himself better leverage. Quentin encouraged him all with his dirty, needy, half-gone sounds. 

His baby wanted him. He wanted to be filled up; wanted to be _leaking_ come out his ass by the end of the night. The desperation to come inside his baby was overwhelming. He needed to take the edge off; needed to be able to focus; needed to make it good for his baby; needed to give his boy everything; he _needed_ it. 

The golem named Daddy placed a hand on his shoulder. He slid it around and wrapped his hand around the back of his neck.

With a shout, Eliot emptied himself into Quentin; a few wet, come-slick pumps in and out, and his head felt clearer. Daddy dropped his hand, back to Quentin’s thigh. Eliot leaned forward, his stomach pinning Quentin’s hard cock between them, and kissed his sweet boy slow and deep. Eliot rested his cheek against Quentin’s as he tried to catch his breath. Quentin muttered something he couldn’t discern, but it sounded content, happy. It was the sound of his darling deep in it, exactly as he should be. 

He was still hard as he carefully pulled out of Quentin—at least magic was good for this. He kissed his sternum, then the edge of his ribcage. 

As an afterthought, Eliot dipped a finger back into Quentin and collected a little bit more come to smear over his cock, a gift for Quentin; a treat for how good he was.

“Put his legs down,” he instructed the golems. They guided Quentin’s knees to bend and for his legs to spread wide to either side. They knelt on either side of him, running their hands over his chest. 

“Move,” he said to golem-El. He nodded, and they switched places. Eliot braced his hands on either side of Quentin’s hips and leaned forward, poised to fuck into Quentin’s mouth. The golem leaned in to ask for a kiss, and Eliot gave it to him. El stepped forward and smoothed his hands down Quentin’s thighs to his hips, poised to pound his baby’s ass. 

“Let’s make him come, gentlemen,” Eliot said, feeding his cock into Quentin’s open, wanting mouth. His cock was still slick and wet with his come, and Eliot suspected Quentin was moaning at the taste as much as he was moaning at being filled from both ends. He responded so easily, sucking him down like it was the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it was, for him—for them. 

It was easy to forget himself. Few things were better than Quentin blissed out on his cock, and right then, he couldn’t think of any of them. He just wanted it to be good for Quentin and letting him suck his cock was as good of a guarantee as any.

Golem-Daddy took charge of pumping Quentin’s cock with deft strokes; golem-Eliot played over Quentin’s nipples with alternating pinches and caresses. Every sensation they could give him. That’s what this was for: the more they could give him, the further into subspace they could push him. All of it for Quentin; nothing held back.

A deep moan ripped from his throat as Quentin’s tongue pressed against his slit, over his head, around him. His baby was _so good_ for him. He didn’t even need to say anything; his baby read his body perfectly every time.

Eliot rocked his hips up and down while watching El’s cock move in and out of Quentin. It was beautiful to watch. Almost identical to watching his own, but not quite the same. He watched Daddy’s hands; he set a demanding pace and he could only imagine how Quentin would sound if his voice wasn’t muffled by his dick. As it was, Quentin was moaning and keening, and the vibrations felt wonderful as he used Quentin’s mouth. 

He watched carefully for the signs of his impending orgasm: the twitch of Quentin’s thighs, the clench of his abs, the lift of his hips. He was close; he was getting there. Eliot pulled back, pulled out, and sat up. He wrapped a hand around his own cock and cradled Quentin’s head in his other hand. Quentin opened his eyes, but they were unfocused. He opened his mouth, tongue lolled out, and closed his eyes again. Eliot pumped his fist over his dick while he watched Daddy work Quentin’s cock and El dive into Quentin with focused intent. Golem-Eliot was watching Eliot intently as he ran his hands over all the most sensitive spots of Quentin’s thighs.

The thought floated to the front of his mind that _that look_ was probably why Quentin never lasted very long when Eliot asked him to show off a little for him. Then it was buried as Quentin’s body readied for release.

Eliot didn’t have it timed exactly right, but just as Quentin began spurting through Daddy’s tight fist, he tilted over the edge. As Quentin’s body spasmed with orgasm, Eliot gasped and spilled over Quentin’s cheeks, his lips, his open, gaping mouth. Come still dribbling out of him, Eliot bent over and kissed him fiercely, both of them moaning at the taste of his come against Quentin’s tongue, both of them moaning at how much their bodies craved each other.

That was number six. 

* * *

He didn’t waste any time foisting Quentin up in a joint effort between Daddy and golem-Eliot and his magic. Eliot sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, with his cock still hard and begging for something to fill. The golems held Quentin’s arms over their shoulders and wrapped their arms under his thighs. Carefully, with the assistance of Eliot’s telekinesis keeping them aligned, they lowered Quentin onto his cock. 

Quentin’s body shuddered around him. He was sobbing, his body shivering with each movement—even the strongest of refractory modification spells still left the recipient susceptible to overstimulation, but that was the point. As Daddy and golem-Eliot lifted him back up, then eased him back down, Quentin’s pleading got a little bit louder, a little more desperate.

El combed his hands through Quentin’s sweat-damp hair and bent to kiss his cheeks with soft reassuring noises. 

“You have a job to do,” Eliot growled, and El bowed his head, reprimanded. El knelt between Eliot’s legs and started massaging Quentin’s cock, timing its strokes with the pace his golem brothers kept.

They were slow until Quentin’s cries turned into low whimpers for more. Eliot leaned back then, propping himself up by his elbows to watch Quentin’s quivering ass, skin slapping against skin as the golems pistoned him up and down. They’d done this before, of course: Eliot fucking Quentin good and deep with his telekinesis taking over and moving Quentin like a live sex toy. 

This was different. It was something else entirely to watch the golems’ muscles shift as they held him. It was something else entirely to see how Quentin’s arms flexed as he clung to their shoulders. The difference was all in the way Quentin’s head lolled back; the way his body shook each time they lowered all the way down until Eliot was bottoming out; the way Quentin purred in contented bliss. It all confirmed for Eliot that this was hitting a different note for him. The confirmation made him want to throw his head back, give into the primal urges to fuck up against his baby’s body. He kept his focus trained forward. He’d have his moment to take his pleasure; this night was about giving Quentin his.

Golem-Eliot and Daddy nodded at each other, and they accelerated the pace, pulling him up faster and pressing him down faster still. Eliot kept his magic up, making sure Quentin was lined up with his cock, making sure his cock was lined up with Quentin’s prostate. Every cry from Quentin reassured him he was hitting it just right.

They set a good pace, and Quentin let out a deep, guttural sound he only made in subspace. It was one of his favorite sounds; it told him his baby was feeling good. 

Eliot licked the sweat off his upper lip. He watched as a bead of sweat rolled between Quentin’s shoulder blades as he bent his head back with a delicious, broken sound. Eliot imagined racing that bead of sweat with his tongue, all the way down Quentin’s back to his ass. Eliot watched the edge of Quentin’s hole pucker, red and ruined around his cock as the golems lowered him back down again. 

He could feel Quentin clenching around him: his body seeking anything that could bring him release. Eliot wanted to give it to him; he wanted to keep using Quentin’s body exactly like this until Quentin came.

So he did. 

* * *

Eliot shifted back so he was sitting with his back against the headboard. The golems helped spread Quentin out on his stomach. He moved so easily, and the sounds he made were so sweet. As soon as he was close enough, he buried his face in Eliot’s lap, nuzzling as close to his cock as he could get. His breath was light, airy, a little fast. Eliot hummed his approval and ran his fingers through Quentin’s hair. 

Just being close like this to each other was more heaven than he’d ever believed in. He could stay like this for hours. They had, once: an evening they weren’t playing too hard, just some light edging, and Quentin got so entranced by the denial of it all he had almost come untouched. 

But, denying Quentin even the smallest of wishes wasn’t what this night was about. Eliot drew his thumb along the curve of Quentin’s ear, down the slope of his neck, as far as he could reach along his spine. Quentin sighed and nestled closer, his hands reaching around and gripping Eliot’s hips. 

“That’s it, baby, I’ve got you,” he whispered, even though he knew Quentin was deep enough in it he would barely register it. 

Eliot looked up and nodded to Daddy—he was to go first. 

The two other golems placed themselves on either side of Quentin and held his ass cheeks wide open for Daddy. He licked a single finger, and ran it from the base of Quentin’s spine down, down, down. 

Quentin pressed his nose against Eliot’s cock with a shudder and a whine. Eliot hushed him gently, petting his shoulders. Daddy set his knees outside Quentin’s thighs, his feet hooked around Quentin’s legs. He leaned in, hands braced against Quentin’s shoulders. Quentin’s entire body seemed to relax as Daddy’s cock slid into him. Daddy was easy and slow, his eyes closed, mouth open, enjoying Quentin’s body to the fullest. Eliot watched as Daddy curved its hips a little, rocking in a circular motion as it pushed in and eased back out. 

Daddy picked up the pace a little bit, making little strained noises at the back of its golem throat. Quentin moaned a little in response. Eliot carefully watched how Quentin’s back muscles twitched and how his grip on him shifted. He could tell just from that: Quentin’s body was nearly wrung out, but he was still straining, still pliant, still trying. Eliot tucked some of his long, sweat-soaked hair to the side and ran his fingers over his jawline.

“Almost there, baby.”

Daddy started moving faster, faster, _faster_. Quentin shifted, whined, his nose buried right against the base of his cock. 

“Baby, it’s okay,” Eliot stroked his hair and hushed him, “Just let him use you. You’re doing so good.”

Daddy let out a groan and paused—neck strained back. Then another hard pulse—Quentin shouted and Daddy made a strained, golem-shout back. A third and he could tell the golem’s come was dumping into Quentin. 

Eliot’s blood pumped loudly in his ears. He licked his lips. 

“You next,” he pointed his jaw towards the one he’d named El. 

El grabbed Quentin’s hips and jerked them off the bed, rough and wild. El batted the other two golems away, holding Quentin’s ass open on his own as he shoved his cock in. It was fast from the moment El entered him; the golem's hips were frantic, and Quentin took it with little more than a whine against Eliot's groin.

Watching El pound mercilessly against Quentin’s ass made Eliot’s blood simmer with pride. His baby was taking it so well. His baby was making it so easy to give him what he needed. 

The longer El went, the harder Quentin gripped Eliot’s thighs. Eliot could see how hard he was trying. He tried to keep himself in check; tried to take it easily, like the good, submissive boy he was.

"Let us hear you, baby," Eliot whispered. The permission unleashed him. Quentin pressed in closer and sobbed against his stomach. Eliot moved his hands in small, soothing circles over Quentin’s shoulders. He just rocked his hips back and let out high high-pitched cries against Eliot’s stomach. His breath was hot as it caressed the tip of Eliot’s cock, pinned between them. Eliot groaned, hands wound tight in Quentin’s hair. 

His baby writhing between his golem and his cock like this was nothing short of perfection.

The sound the golem made didn’t match the ferocity of his final plunge into Quentin as Eliot watched him come, but that in and of itself was oddly erotic. It reminded him that these things were just toys. It reminded him Quentin just wanted to be treated like a toy. 

El pulled out and bent over for a wet, sucking, open mouth kiss right where Quentin was doubtlessly open, swollen and leaking. Eliot knew exactly what it looked like leaving some of himself behind after giving Quentin such a thorough fuck; he usually couldn’t resist licking up the excess either. He let out a long slow breath. He kept his hands busy running through Quentin’s hair, trying to be patient and keep himself from fucking up into Quentin’s open, panting, willing mouth. 

The other Eliot slid up behind Quentin for his turn, Daddy and El joining him. All three of them pawed at Quentin, traced fingers over his hole, took turns pulling his ass apart and licking at him. Golem-Eliot kissed the base of Quentin’s spine before he started to tease: slapping his cock against the roundness of his ass, pulling his cheeks apart, and rubbing his cock against his entrance. 

He wasn’t watching Quentin’s body react to the teasing, though. He was watching Eliot.

That gave him a beautiful, wonderful, gorgeous idea.

The two other golems helped them maneuver Quentin. They got him up to his knees, with his arms looped around Eliot’s neck for support, leaning him at just the right angle between them. He went easily, with nothing more than the gentle whimpers of a blissed-out Quentin just craving direction. Golem-Eliot gripped Quentin’s hair in one hand and held onto one shoulder with the other; Eliot held Quentin by his hips; the other two set to rubbing and licking and biting whatever inch of Quentin’s skin they deemed hadn’t had enough attention yet.

Eliot’s eyes flicked up to meet his namesake and after what felt like too long for his sub to go empty, the golem finally pushed his cock into Quentin and started fucking him with an even, steady pace.

Eliot kissed Quentin on the cheek, on his eyebrow, on the underside of his jaw. The golem leaned forward over Quentin’s shoulder and turned his cheek, asking for one himself. Quentin whined as if he knew Eliot’s lips were pressed against something that wasn’t him. Eliot was readily prepared to show Quentin he knew who was his; he kissed him hard, tongue licking deep into his mouth, tasting every part of him with precise focus. Quentin hummed as Eliot sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, seemingly contented. 

All the while, golem-Eliot kept rocking back and forth, Quentin’s body shifting between them and rubbing against Eliot with a delicious rhythm.

“C’mon, sweetheart," Eliot said, before sucking down on Quentin’s neck and tracing his tongue over his collarbone. The other golems kept touching him _everywhere_ , even Eliot could feel their hands and their hot breath as their attention rolled over him. Quentin made the sweetest sounds, for him, for the golem deep inside him, for the golem massaging his thigh, for the golem sucking a bruise against his ribs. 

Eliot kept one hand on his hip to keep him in place and wrapped his other hand around Quentin’s cock. He started slow, pulling a deep sigh, then a moan, then a sob out of Quentin with slow steady pumps as the other Eliot fucked into him just a little bit faster, and just a little bit rougher. 

“My little cumslut. My darling, sweetest boy. You’ve taken so much, haven’t you?" Quentin murmured something in response, but Eliot didn't stop to listen. "I bet your legs are slick with it. Covered with it. The only thing keeping it inside you is this golem’s cock, and he’s just going to give you more, isn’t he darling?”

The golem and Quentin made near identical little grunting sounds and Eliot’s own cock twitched in response.

“You like Eliot pulling your hair, don’t you, sweetheart? Just a little bit rough. Bet you like him inside you while Sir is jerking you off.” 

He started to whine, but Daddy tilted his head to the side and swallowed it up in a fast, tongue-tangled kiss.

“Don’t come yet. You’re gonna come on my cock. Your last one’s gonna be on my cock.”

He had no idea if Quentin understood the direction, but the golem-Eliot seemed to. He increased its speed; he leaned back a little to get a better angle, all while Eliot kept his hand easy and smooth over Quentin’s cock. Quentin was leaking precum; he was going to come if they didn’t act fast. 

El took his turn kissing his baby, as Daddy pulled Eliot into a kiss of his own. 

Golem-Eliot grunted. His head rolled back. Eliot knew exactly how it felt; it was the best feeling in the world. It made his skin crawl with need and his blood burn with possessive pride. Eliot pulled away from Daddy and latched on to Quentin’s neck, sucking, biting, licking with a sudden mad obsession to mark his sweet boy as _his_.

His baby was so _full_ of all the come from all these toys _he’d_ made for him. _He’d_ fulfilled this fantasy. He was a good dom; he gave Quentin exactly what he needed and even more of what he wanted. He was a good dom, with a good sub, and now it was his turn for what _he_ wanted.

* * *

Quentin twitched in his hands. His baby had one more in him. 

Quentin always came easiest on his cock. 

He put Quentin on his back with his knees over his shoulders. 

Quentin wasn’t there; he was on another plane.

He fucked into his baby once, twice—then he was gone in it.

The spell was still in him, driving him on, pushing him past his limits. 

He came once, deep inside Quentin, and kept fucking him. 

He still needed more for himself; Quentin was his; he could take whatever he needed.

He came again, and Quentin just kept howling for it, begging for it. He kept giving it to him. He would _always_ give him anything he needed, and right then, his baby needed his dom’s cock. He needed it deep, strong, thick, full, invasive—pushing _harder_ , _harder_ , _harder_ , _more_ , _more_ , _more_ —insatiable, demanding, relentless. 

Quentin came, screaming. 

He collapsed back onto the bed, wrecked. He clung to his shoulders, weeping. 

Gasping for each other’s air, they pressed against each other; they still needed to be _closer_ ; even closer wasn’t enough. 

They fell around each other, all gentle noises and soft lips. It was wonderful, sublime, incredible, _perfect_. 

Quentin was perfect.

Finally, they curled around each other and soothed each other down from the ecstasy. 

They stayed there for a long, long time.

* * *

Portaling to Miami had been Eliot’s idea because October had been unseasonably cold outside Brakebills wards and sunrise over Miami was supposed to be incredible.

They would have to see for themselves the next morning. After they were through—and after Eliot sent his golems to the closet, and after he scooped Quentin up for the most tender aftercare bath of his life—Quentin had slept a full ten hours straight. He would have probably kept on sleeping if the smell of coffee hadn’t woken him up. 

An hour after their late room service brunch, they were still in bed, wrapped up in each other, enjoying the view of the city and the beach from their high-rise hotel room.

Quentin turned to bury his face in Eliot’s chest as Eliot slowly carded his hands through Quentin’s hair, “You know, that present was supposed to be for _you_.” 

Eliot pressed his nose against the crown of his head. “I’d been thinking about a scene like that for a while. It was quite intuitive of you. Saved me a lot of effort.”

Laughing, Quentin slipped his hand into Eliot’s, and Eliot squeezed him tight against his side. They spent a few moments in silence. They both knew they needed to shower; they needed to disassemble the golems; all they wanted to do was stay in bed together. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that deep in it. It felt...good. _Really_ good, baby. Thank you,” Eliot whispered against Quentin’s temple. 

Quentin hummed in response. He expected he’d be riding the high of their self-contained quintet for quite some time. 

He ran his hands through Eliot’s chest hair, “It was. Good. Amazing. Spectacular. Dunno how I got to keep you, but glad you’re mine.”

“You seduced me with your nerdly wiles. I was a goner the moment you first ranted to me about Fillory; your first terrible pun; the first time you—” 

Quentin bent his neck back and caught Eliot’s lips with his. 

Eliot smiled as Quentin let him go again, “I’m not joking. You showed up on Brakebills’ front lawn as perfectly packaged Eliot-Waugh-bait. I’m still not entirely convinced the dean didn’t have you special ordered just for me in an attempt to get me to buckle down and stop ruining the Physical Kid’s collective study habits and actually fucking graduate.”

“Two of three isn’t bad,” Quentin mumbled into Eliot’s shoulder.

“We’re not there yet.” 

“Just one more semester,” Quentin yawned and pressed his face against Eliot's neck.

They stayed in bed catnapping and talking and gentling each other until Quentin demanded lunch. It was ultimately the deciding factor that they really did have to get out of bed because they really did have to leave their room: Eliot was not about to let Quentin eat room service arepas in Miami.


End file.
